


this broken earthly life

by theclaravoyant



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: 4x16 spoilers, Angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Framework
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-07
Updated: 2017-04-07
Packaged: 2018-10-15 21:49:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10558250
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theclaravoyant/pseuds/theclaravoyant
Summary: When they return from the Framework, Fitz is struggling to recover, and Daisy tries to help.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Post-Framework. Contains some 4x16 spoilers.
> 
> Title from Satellite Call from Sara Bareilles, which imo is a great Fitz-Daisy song.
> 
> TW: some discussion of non/dubcon themes, but no depiction of this behaviour.

This morning, the kitchen was quiet. 

The whole base was quiet, but especially the kitchen, where Jemma and Daisy made breakfast for the team and did not speak. Eggs crackled in the pan. The kettle whistled. They found themselves not looking forward to real food nearly as much as they had been last night. 

“I’m worried about Fitz,” Jemma confessed, as she filled tea and coffee cups to the brim. “He’s barely said a word since we got back. He’s barely even moved. It was a struggle to get him to have a shower and when he did I’m pretty sure he just stood in the water. I’ve tried talking to him about it, but I think he feels guilty about all this. He felt pretty bad before. Now? I can only imagine. But he won’t talk to me about it. I don’t want to push, if struggling with words will make it worse, but…I’m afraid if I leave it he’s going to sink into some sort of depression.” 

Daisy shovelled eggs and sausages onto plates. 

“Maybe I could talk to him? Let him know I…forgive him, or whatever, for the whole…torture thing.” 

Jemma nodded. “I’m sure that would help.” 

She pushed two cups of tea toward Daisy, but didn’t suggest that they bring him breakfast. That, Daisy felt, was a bad sign. She felt a sour taste in her mouth as she walked through the corridors with small but purposeful steps, as reluctant as she was eager to see him. 

When she finally reached his door, Daisy braced herself for no more than a second, refusing to let herself lose her nerve. She knocked, and only an indistinct mumble came from the other side, so she pushed slowly into the room. 

Fitz was in bed, blankets strewn randomly around him like he’d gotten sick of trying to rearrange them. He had his back to the door, and his legs curled up a little as his body wrapped around something – a pillow, Daisy suspected. It didn’t look like he’d moved in a while, and she felt her heart sink. 

“How’re you feeling?” she asked, nevertheless. 

Silence passed in heartbeats until Fitz decided to answer her. 

“Shit,” he croaked. “Many…many layers of shit.” 

Daisy nodded. It was a start. 

“Wanna sit up?” she offered. “Jemma made you some tea.” 

Begrudgingly, he took up the invite and sat on the edge of the bed, pillow in his lap, tea in his hands. He stared at the softly swirling water, but his eyes were grey and heavy and unseeing. 

“How’re the others?” he asked eventually.

Daisy sighed, and her eyes dropped to her own cup as she explained. 

“Coulson’s pretty good. A bit shaken, but he’s getting over it. May – well, mentally she’s fine. She made a different decision here, so she’s taking comfort from that, I guess. She’s in medical, which she’s not too happy about, but her body was in there for the longest, so she’s got some problems. Mack’s still pretty messed up, though.” 

 _“Mack?“_  

A surge of inspiration flooded him, bleeding through the grey, and he almost moved for the door. Only, he was not sure what to do. What could he say? He was in no position to reassure someone, especially not about love and children and happy things while all he could think of was cold torture, and hatred, and death. 

“He’s not on base right now,” Daisy assured him. “I think him and Elena have gone to church or something, to help him come to terms with it.” 

“Okay.” Fitz nodded. His own inability to help his friend piled onto the shit he was feeling but at least help was coming from somewhere. It stung. “Okay. Yeah. Good.”

“He’s going to be okay, Fitz,” Daisy assured him. “As sucky as it is, he’s got through this before. He knows this Hope wasn’t real. He just misses her. He’ll be alright. And it’s not your fault.” 

She looked into his eyes, and he felt like curling up again. That’s what they thought he meant, that’s always what they thought he meant, but the guilt, it was different to this – this _shit._

Fitz shook his head. 

“It’s not that,” he said. 

“What is it, then?” 

_Grey. Rotting. Empty._

None of those were right, but they were the closest he had. Would she understand? 

“I – “ 

_Not this, not more tears, not now._

_But it’s too much, it’s all wrong, it’s nothing._

A whine came out of his throat in place of words, and Daisy’s eyes widened, horrified at the thought that she might have upset him further. She cast aside her own cup of tea, leaving it on the dresser, and moved to sit beside Fitz.

“It’s okay,” she assured him. “You can tell me. No judgments. I won’t tell anyone, not even Jemma if you don’t want me to.” 

“It’s not- I can’t – I feel –“ 

_Aida, Aida, Aida._

The thought of her, of _it,_ drowned out all the words. Even the greyness turned into twisted, visceral darkness, and he could no longer tell what he felt or what he wanted. 

Daisy offered him her shoulder, and wound the fingers of one of her hands up with his. It seemed to steady him a little, but she wondered: was this a breakthrough, or was he starting to spiral? He had, after all, just woken up from a horrific life. A life where everyone who had loved him was a stranger. A life where he had tortured and killed for a living. As horrific as that had been to see, she could hardly imagine what it must have been like to live it.

“It’s okay,” she insisted. “You don’t have to find another word. I can work with _shit._ If I’d just come back from being a Nazi I’d feel pretty shit about it too. But that wasn’t you, you know that, right? That was Aida. Not you.” 

“Aida,” Fitz repeated. “Yes.” 

He sounded…relieved. Like she’d finally understood something that he had been struggling to communicate. But what? Daisy didn’t feel like she understood a thing about what he’d gone through... Then again, maybe she did. Maybe she was thinking too much with her head, trying to figure out his words, when she should have been focused on the feeling. 

Not guilt, they’d already covered that.

Not sorrow, or mourning; he’d been all but weeping with relief when they’d pulled him out.

No. 

_Violation._

They’d all thought he was feeling bad about what he thought he’d done to them, but no – or at least, not only that. He felt _shit_ because he knew that his mind had been invaded; all his thoughts and desires and dreams had been warped and replaced; his body had been assaulted; and all the things he loved most had been taken or corrupted or both. Everything he was had been hollowed out and twisted and he could remember every second of it. And maybe he couldn’t describe it with any other word, but when Ward had revealed himself to be Hydra after all the things she’d wanted to do with him, and when Hive had drugged her and replaced all her loves and loyalties with himself, Daisy wouldn’t have been able to come up with another word for it either. 

Instead, she wrapped Fitz tighter in her arms until she was giving him a proper, solid embrace. 

“I’m sorry that happened to you,” she murmured. “You are a good person and we love you, and she cannot take that away. You are still whole. No matter what she did to you or made you do.” 

Fitz hugged her back with equal ferocity, internalising her assurances as best he could, and relishing the feeling that someone knew, someone understood. It didn’t quite get rid of the shit, but it was like a ray of sunshine, warm on his skin.

“I missed you,” he whispered. Daisy smiled. 

“I missed you, too.”


End file.
